


hit the lights and leave the lid on 'til it's over

by proximally



Series: cognitive dissonance [2]
Category: Prey (Video Game 2017)
Genre: Dehumanisation, Gen, Nonbinary Morgan Yu, standalone!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 03:45:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17500919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proximally/pseuds/proximally
Summary: It's not as if this experiment has ever been done before, but it still surprises you.





	hit the lights and leave the lid on 'til it's over

**Author's Note:**

> Written June 2017, minor edits done now; title from the lyrics of Pliocene by Cosmo Sheldrake.
> 
> alternate POV companion to _hatchet_ , not a sequel - can be read in any order.

It does not act like you think it should act. 

This is par for the course, considering that nothing of the like has ever been attempted, let alone succeeded. Who else but a Yu would even contemplate it, inserting human neurons into the nervous system of a typhon organism? You nearly gave up on the experiment, too - you! give up! This one’s the sixteenth, the sole success after a string of failures. It’s the only one that appeared to display any kind of empathy, the only one you dared be in the same room with. The only one you let live.

The first shock was when it shook you by the hand: you’ve witnessed the transformation of mimics a hundred times over, but never this close, never into a living thing, and, most of all, never into your years-dead sibling.

Mikhaila, though discomforted, insisted it was a good thing, a sign of it actively aligning itself with you and with humanity; Igwe had presented the counterpoint that it was just trying to manipulate you now that it grasped the concept of affection. You...you hoped for the better, but prepared for the worse.

You kept it in a secure room for that first week; observing, evaluating. Yes, it had proven itself in the sim, had struck a deal with you, but...it’s still typhon. And hell, you can’t trust most humans either, and you’ve given it a dose of that too. It seems to understand, oddly enough. It’s subdued. Passive. Rarely speaks unless spoken to, and god, isn’t that unsettling when it wears Morgan’s face? Morgan was never so quiet. Always a quip, always a comment, never content not having the last word.

...It’s not them, though, and you’d do well to remember that. It has their face, their voice - if accented with an edge of typhon static. It even seems to have inherited some of their mannerisms - from the way they would fiddle with their sleeves to the leg bounce they’d never quite managed to get rid of.

It doesn’t smile. Doesn’t express much of anything, really; it has an almost totally flat affect, voice always level and face blank. It ate what was given it, slept when it felt the need - about one hour of every seven, it seemed - answered questions if asked, and, left to its own devices, would just...sit. Patiently waiting for the next meal, the next test, the next onset of drowsiness.

After that week, you unlocked the door; trust would be a strong word, but it seemed placid enough, and the facility staff had been thoroughly warned; if they got into difficulties with it, then that would be their own damn fault.

Its...transformation, now finally among humans as well as slightly more disposable Operators, was fascinating. It was quick to associate tone with expression and body language, and quick to learn what actions to take to obtain a desired result - usually to escape a situation it perhaps felt uncomfortable in. That’s what you get if you use a mimic as a ‘base’, you guess, especially a greater mimic. You wouldn’t dare try capturing a phantom, let alone attempting to contain one; a mimic had been the safest choice, and if you have to deal with the nagging suspicion that you’ve created something almost infinitely worse, well, so be it. The Yus would never have gotten anywhere without taking a few risks.

And then, you _ really _ notice it change. It’s so gradual you don’t at first, but one day you blink and the thing’s face just isn’t quite Morgan’s anymore. It doesn’t look totally human, either, more like a badly edited photo or botched realistic painting. Your first thought is that there’s a limit to its using Morgan’s shape, be it time or effort or concentration, but the thing is it regularly reverts back to its inky black typhonoid form when it sleeps, and you’ve never seen or heard reported such a waver in its mimicry. It’s...strange. Concerning, even - is it degrading, somehow? It’s survived longer than any other hybrid, but is it really stable? You don’t let on that you’ve noticed it slipping, and endeavour to keep an even closer eye on it.

The alterations continue, and it becomes hard to ignore: the eyes, just a little too big, a little too bright, a little too far apart; the nose, impeccably straight and far too thin; the mouth, small and unassuming, and its features are as close to symmetrical as you’ve ever seen on a living creature. It’s… really quite bizarre. And it acts no differently to how it has previously, no sign or indication that this is anything but normal.

So, eventually, you give in. You’re a patient man, more so than your sibling ever was, but this isn’t them, is it? It’s like a caricature of them now, a cartoon version, and you politely ask it what the hell it thinks it’s doing.

If it were human, you think it might blink in surprise or confusion. Since it isn’t, it just looks at you for half a second, blank as ever, then says in its breathy buzz, “You seem uncomfortable.”

Damn straight you’re uncomfortable. It was bad enough with your dead sibling’s face, and now this uncanny valley horror show? You don’t tell it this, though. Not in so many words, but, then, you don’t need to; it’s getting terrifyingly competent at reading between the lines.

In hindsight, you think this is the first time you witness it experience a genuine emotion. It hesitates. Falters. Disappointment, you wonder, looking back, or maybe shame, or frustration? Its shape flickers as it grapples with itself, inky blackness oozing over its human skin, and the delicate structure of its hands deforming into tendrils. And then it’s back, snapped back into Morgan’s body like nothing had ever happened; it makes a quiet apology, and takes its leave, slightly too fast. 

It doesn’t leave its room after that, and it doesn’t even try to take a human form again. Instead the water-filled mug left on the night stand is joined by a second, empty one that rolls under the bed whenever anyone walks in, and if you didn’t know better you might think it was  _ sulking _ . 

God. You’re gonna have to give a coffee mug a pep talk, aren’t you?

**Author's Note:**

> sorry the ending's kinda abrupt - i think the intention was for this to be much longer, but of course i wrote nothing down, and i have not a clue what it would've been. rip.


End file.
